Edgar and I both turned as the screen behind us showed Callum and me, outside a restaurant, kissing.

“Well, that’s quite simple, then,” Edgar explained, visibly relieved. “Yes, Carter was involved with that chap, but it was some time ago. I’m sure this is from that earlier period.”

“It’s time-stamped from last night,” said Caroline. “Just a few blocks from the palace.”

No. No. I hadn’t done anything wrong. Had I?

Last night Edgar and I had reluctantly agreed to stay in our own rooms so we’d be well rested for the interview. I’d had trouble getting to sleep, because I kept thinking about the show, with so many people watching, and how much I wanted to please Edgar. As I was lying in bed and giving myself an Abby-style you’ve-got-this pep talk a text came in, followed by a call. It was Callum, who was in London shooting a small role as a henchman in the next Bond movie; with his hair slicked back and the right mirrored sunglasses, Callum could pass for a glowering Euro-thug. He was nearby and wondered if I was up for a drink.

I knew it was a bad idea, but I was antsy and I could use some fresh air. Callum and I couldn’t be more over, so what was the harm? And if I was being ruthlessly honest, I was itching to preen a little and to see if Callum would ask about Edgar so I could act super-casual as Callum tried to come off as unimpressed.

I pulled on my clothes, snuck out of the palace and walked to a café. Callum was waiting at a table in the back, and yes, he looked good. No one can slouch in a battered motorcycle jacket and jeans like Callum. That had been part of our problem; I could never tell if he was brooding or auditioning a new headshot.

“Hey, Carter. Look at you.”

“I can only stay a minute.”

“One drink.”

“One Coke.”

Callum gossiped about the movie and how excited he was, because “People haven’t seen me do evil.” I almost said, “I have,” but resisted.

“So tell me about what’s-his-name, your new dude, Prince Edward?”

“Edgar.”

“Edgar, right. Skinny. But he seems cool. Is he a good guy?”

“The best.” I was ashamed, because I wanted to brag, but I didn’t need to punish Callum with my happiness. And my prince. I knew I should leave. Except I hadn’t been out of the royal orbit for weeks, or talked to another American in person, so I told myself, Five more minutes.

“So is it, like, serious?”

“I think so. I hope so. I’m adjusting, but it’s going well.”

“Good. Great. I’m happy for you. Shit.”

“What?”